


THAT GREAT SOMEWHERE;

by allonsysouffle



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: (gav and jack are in it for a bit but note that they are not main characters!), Alternate Universe - Road Trip, M/M, as is geoff's music superiority complex, because the world needs more minigolf squad friendship, the banter is strong in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-20 13:41:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4789313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsysouffle/pseuds/allonsysouffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“It’s just like backpacking in Europe! Except slightly lamer. And in America. And for poor people."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You’re really selling this for me, Ryan.”</i>
</p><p>In which four boys escape the clutches of adulthood and embark on a grand adventure across the lush wilds of America to find themselves (or some philosophical bullshit like that).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ACT 1: boys striking out across america

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at lindsqyjones, and twitter at @saltwaterrayne!  
> -E

 

“When the world is on paper, I’m in love with everywhere.

The map says: you are here. You are home.

You will be born again wherever you are breathing.”

** \- Hollie Hefferman, _The Blue Interior_ **

 

* * *

 

**Eugene, Oregon**

**July 7**

It begins, as many grand adventures do, with four boys sitting in the corner booth of their local diner in the beginning of July, just waiting for something to happen.

“I’m _bored_ ,” says Michael, for the second time. 

“We know,” says Geoff, with a huff.

So they sit.

The boredom sits, too, and waits, and hangs over them. It’s always like this. The day ticks away, slow and dragging. It’s always like this. Ray chews on a fry all solemn-like, looking like a sad puppy.

“We should really do something.” Ryan says this suddenly, in his own quiet way, and it would sound revolutionary if he hadn’t already said it five times that afternoon. “You know. Something big. Something to really make this _our_ summer.”

“Will the something involve physical activity?” Ray asks, an eyebrow cocked. 

“Probably?”

“Let’s not.”

Ryan mutters curses under his breath.

The boredom lives to see another day.

It’s always like this.

 

* * *

 

The story of their friendship is not overly complicated, nor overly interesting. It happened rather quickly, rather regularly, nothing star-written or poignant.

The quaint city of Eugene, Oregon is home to two things: rain, and the Nike company. It is also full of people complaining about said rain. 

The four of them- all new to the state and completely friendless- were partnered for a Social Studies project in their freshman year, and they found solace in finally finding people to direct their many complaints to. They huddled together like penguins in the harsh winters of Antarctica- four angry kids against a dark and drizzly world. 

And so, on that wet day, a loving bond was formed between them in that short duration of forced partnership- a bond based entirely upon their mutual hatred of the weather, insatiable queerness, and love of sardonic remarks. 

They’re a motley crew, all oddities in their high school years in some way or another. They were bound to bond at some point, this crew of nerds and outcasts and assholes.

Geoff is the punk- always fighting against the bourgeoisie, or the heterosexual agenda, or the _system_ , or whatever cause he’s getting mad about this week. Well, ‘punk’ is relative. 

Ryan’s the rational one of the quartet- or so he claims. He’s book-smart, university bound in the fall, but no amount of reading can hide that he’s just as much of a five-year-old as the rest of them.

Michael is the lovable asshole- well, all of them are lovable assholes to some degree, but he is by far the worst of them, in the best way, all bark and very limited bite- less of a pitbull and more of an incessantly angry poodle.

Ray is quiet, far too much so- quiet, geeky and yet impossibly funny in his own dry way. There is something soft under the sharpness, though, something honey-sweet and full of something you might call positivity- not that he’d ever admit it.

The four of them, these boys born of boredom, they need a distraction.

And oh, what a lovely distraction it’ll turn out to be.

 

* * *

 

“It’s just like backpacking in Europe! Except _slightly_ lamer. And in America. And for poor people.”

“You’re really selling this for me, Ryan.”

It’s a few days after they leave the diner, and Ryan and Geoff are talking trash over the phone when Ryan brings up his _idea_ , this supposed ‘grand plan’ of his.

It’s a road trip. His grand plan is a goddamn road trip. Geoff is already nursing a headache, and it hasn’t _started_ yet. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun.” 

“A road trip? Rye, I’m not twelve.”

“Uh, yes, you _so_ are.” He pauses. “Also, Ray and Michael agreed to come yesterday, and Michael already booked time off work for it, so. It’s kind of happening whether you like it or not.”

Geoff groans, both externally and internally. “I guess I’ll have to drive, since neither of those bitches will and you’re going to dibs navigator. No, let me guess, you already have.”

“Well, you know the rules of the Dibs Protocol.”

“Fine. Fuck, whatever, I’ll do it. Not like I have anything better to do this summer. Where are we actually going?”

“Um. Haven’t quite figured that out yet. I’m thinking... Cape Cod?”

Geoff wants to scream. He stops to collect himself for a moment.

“Ryan, we live in _Oregon_.”

“Exactly!”

“ _Ryan_. I’m not driving across the entire fucking country for some beaches.”

“Ah, why not? Just the four of us against the open road. Two weeks of bliss, you know?” He exhales, with something like a smile in his voice. “Besides. High school’s over, and I’m going to college in the fall, and the rest of y’all are going full-time with your jobs, and- I don’t know, I just wanted... one last hurrah? For us?”

Ryan seems far too sincere, and since when has Geoff ever said no to him? And he’s right, really, they won’t be seeing each other as often, and the thought burns a little. 

He’s going to miss this.

“Alright, but I still don’t know how you’re gonna get Ray to be apart from his Xbox for a goddamn fortnight.”

 

* * *

 

It’s easier than Geoff thinks, in the end, to organize this grand jaunt of theirs. He cashes in his yearly two weeks of vacation at his job at tech support, grumbling about having to work through Christmas, though he hasn’t really spent it with his actual family since he moved out at seventeen. 

They research the route for maybe five minutes before Michael convinces them that _hey, fucks, this is an adventure, can we please just get fuckin’ lost, who cares_ , and Ryan has half an aneurysm before deciding to just let it happen. If Michael wants an adventure, he gets an adventure.

So the bag gets packed, the emergency piggy banks get smashed, and it’s not a week until Geoff is loading four duffel bags into the trunk of Ryan’s Volvo convertible. The air is dry and breezy and blue and he shoots one last look at his beat-down apartment complex before turning to Ryan.

“Dude, I didn’t know convertibles could _have_ trunks. This shit’s spacious as dicks!”

“Yeah, well.” Ryan scratches his head. _Trust fund baby,_ Geoff thinks, holding back a sneer. 

“Hey lovebirds!” There’s Michael, stretching his head out the backseat window and brushing the curls from his face. “Quit screwing around, we’ve got places to go!”

“People to see!” Ray chimes in. 

Ryan opens the passenger door. “Roads to.. drive on?”

“That was _almost_ good.”

“I do try.”

Geoff is still taken aback by being called a _lovebird_ \- by Michael, no less, who’s been dating Ray for about two years now. _Fucking hypocrite._ He doesn’t even _like_ Ryan like that. He shrugs and gets in, starting the car and driving halfway down the suburban street.

“Alright, boys,” he says, and grins. “Ground rules.”

Ray groans. “Aw, man, why-”

“Rule one,” Geoff interrupts. “No goddamn sex in the back seat.” He looks pointedly at Michael, who rolls his eyes. 

“Rule two,” he continues. “We stop for bathroom and food breaks every three hours. No sooner, no later. Fucking hold it.”

“Yeah, that’ll be kept up to the minute,” Ray says, sarcasm tangible. 

“Rule three: we take turns with the aux cord. Let’s be fucking fair here- one hour per turn, unless your music sucks. As the driver, I will veto your ass.”

“Geoff, that’s not what fair means,” Ray monotones, but then again, he’s the one with a phone full of exclusively shitty pop punk and screamo, so Geoff dismisses the complaint.

“Shut up. Life’s not fair. Oh, and if you play any Coldplay, you’re out of the car. No exceptions.”

Ryan shoots him a puppy-dog glance. “But they’re so good!”

“Don’t do this to me, Ryan. Don’t you dare.”

“I- I’m gonna let you finish, but... _Viva La Vida_ was one of the best albums of all time.”

“I WILL TURN THIS CAR AROUND, YOU MOTHERFUCKER.”

Michael laughs. “Geoff, we’ve moved maybe two feet from your driveway.”

“I swear to God, do not test me like this, you _assholes_ , I bet you’ve been conspiring to torture me with fuckin’ Coldplay this entire time and that’s why we’re on the damn road trip in the first place-”

And then, there is music. 

Strings. Synths underlying, almost indiscernible. Ryan’s eager grin, eyes wide and mouth half-open in anticipation, his phone attached to the lightning cable.

Cue singing.

_“I used to rule the world...”_

Geoff pulls over, slams the brakes, punches Ryan in the arm, and yanks the phone from the cord, all in one fluid, furious motion.

“HAYWOOD, YOU FUCKING FUCK.”

Ryan puts his hands up in surrender, laughter bursting out of his mouth. “I can’t believe that worked! You _dumbass!_ ”

Geoff inhales, eye twitching. He looks back at Ray and Michael, channeling all the fury of ten thousand fiery hells. “Were you two in cohorts with this- this- _defiler?_ ”

Ray looks up from his phone. “No? Wait, what’s going on, again?”

“Dude,” Michael cuts in, raising an eyebrow. “It’s just Coldplay, man. You’re so hung up on this shit..” He snickers. “I’m afraid we’ll have to _fix you_.”

Geoff balls his fists. “Not you, too!”

“Chill, man, seriously,” Ray laughs- he giggles _,_ he really _giggles_ \- “All this yelling must be giving you _a rush of blood to the head._ ”

“I hate you all.”

“ _Don’t panic_ , Geoff. _Everything’s not lost._ ”

“ _MI_ CHAEL. THIS IS THE LAST GODDAMN _STRAW_.”

“Well, boys, we got him good,” says Ryan, leaning back in his seat as Geoff starts driving again. “Guess it’s back to _square one._ ”

“Do you want me to kick your ass out of the car? Because I can. And will.”

“Nah, you won’t.” Ryan pauses. “Also, this is _my_ car.”

“Oh. Right. Fuck.”

 

* * *

 

**Somewhere on the Central Oregon Highway**

**July 14**

This is what summer feels like: bitten tongues. Cornflower. Tall sky. Wide sky. Bubblegum. Road dust. Forest. Sweat rolling. Hot wind. Crackling fire. Crackling radio. Beating, beating sun.

This is the modern July, top down and free-wheeling, sickly pop blaring from near-blown speakers, this is youth in motion, this is _it_ , and it is beautiful, and it is wild.

This is the wind, running slipstream. This is the air, stilling. This is the beginning- of something wild and ridiculous and continuously unfolding into that unreachable horizon.

Because this is Geoff and Michael and Ray and Ryan, in the car and laughing and screaming sweet nothings to open road, everything endless.

Geoff hopes it’s always like this. 

He’s driving, because of course he is, with Ryan riding shotgun and fiddling with Google Maps. Michael and Ray are in the backseat, all over each other, as usual, eating chips and giggling and knocking their foreheads together like adolescent mountain goats just getting used to their horns. 

So he drives, and drives, and takes it in. The air, the light. The laughing, the grumbling. The color, the road, the landscape, the music, everything and everything and everything.

So then, somehow, they’re four hours in, and Geoff’s just plugging in his phone after somehow surviving sixty whole minutes of screaming faux-punk from Ray’s turn with the aux cord. He puts on an old indie rock album while trying his best to concentrate on the great wide road ahead. They’re on the highway, so the top isn’t even down, and Geoff’s starting to regret taking the convertible when, really, Michael’s beat-up Chevy would have been much more practical.

There really isn’t anything to see in East Oregon, apart from a couple of small towns dotting the edges of the highway and miles of forest and wide open steppes- they’ve just gone through the tiny city of Burns, and the whole world is flat and spread out in front of them. Ryan is reading, because he always is, and Geoff is continually astounded as to how he can concentrate in a moving car with music playing so loud they can feel the very floor rumble to the beat. Michael is sticking his head out the window, chopping winds buffeting the freckles off his face, while Ray is hunched over his 3DS. It’s peaceful, it’s a postcard, and Geoff taps the steering wheel to the beat of the song.

May his life never change.

May this ride never end.

 

* * *

 

**Boise, Idaho**

**July 15**

They pull into the parking lot of a motel about an hour after entering Idaho, clocks ticking over to midnight. 

The neon sign outside flickers- once, twice, _Holiday Inn_ , _Hol_ \--- _y_ \- _n_ -. They’re still abuzz on that first day glow, and it’s still fun to them, this whole process of check-in and check-out, this concept of moving forward and never stopping.

Ray and Michael share a room, because of course they do, and that leaves Geoff and Ryan in what could barely be called a suite. The wall pattern is horrendous and blaring in polka dots of bright orange and lime green, and there’s dust covering every surface of the room. 

Geoff leaps for the bed (but, to be fair, it’s less of a leap and more of a _flop_ \- and less of a bed and more of a scrappy thin mattress atop a creaking metal frame). “Dude. I’m _exhausted._ Someone else has gotta drive tomorrow.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Oh, yeah. My fuckin’ back is plotting murder right now, I swear. Turns out, driving for eight hours straight is not super fun.”

“We’ll take turns, don’t worry.” Ryan’s eyebrows furrow. “Hey, let’s make this an early night. Seems like you need it.”

“Stop mom-ing me,” Geoff mutters, face buried in the shitty foam pillow.

“Geoffrey!” Ryan barks, laughing. “Do your homework!”

“It’s funny because you literally said that to me in high school, like, every day.” He sighs, awash in the nostalgia of their freshman year, when they still thought they were all going to college. “Nerd.”

“I mean, I’m not the one with half a million Marvel comics.”

“That’s a _collection_ , oh my _God._ ”

Ryan chuckles, and turns off the lights. “Night, dude.”

“Night.”

The moon shines far too bright through the cracked window, though, and while Ryan begins to snore, Geoff is wide awake and bored as all hell, counting the dots in their erratic patterns on the ceiling.

He sneaks a look at Ryan, who’s passed out completely with his mouth half-open, blanket not even covering his legs. He’s growing out his stubble a little, which Geoff supposes is a good look for him. It’s no small wonder he was so sought-after in high school, really, now that he thinks about it- that sandy hair, big blue eyes...

Wait, no, Geoff’s not supposed to be thinking about that. Absolutely not. They’ve been best friends since they were fourteen. It isn’t like that.

It’s just... platonic aesthetic appreciation.

Right?

There is something wonderful about just about everyone when their faces are illuminated and moonlit past midnight, and Ryan is no exception. He’s had a couple modeling jobs, after all. He’s got symmetry, and soft features, and all that shit.

And Geoff knows he can’t get so attached to him- not when he’s going off to university, not when they’re all going their separate ways in a couple of months, not on a road trip, _for fuck’s sake, not here, not like this_. 

He gets maybe three hours of sleep that night.

 

* * *

 

**Somewhere on the I-84, Idaho**

**July 15**

And then they’re off again the next morning, on the road again, and Michael’s at the wheel, and Geoff’s lounging in the passenger seat and thanking every god imaginable for it, because at long last he can rest, and at long last they are moving and he can keep his mind off his worries. 

That’s when Ryan suggests they detour to Salt Lake City, because it’s only five hours away, and it’s on their route, anyway, and Geoff is trying his best not to look at him because he had some _very_ regretful thoughts last night and he has to chase them away as best he can.

“What’s there to do in Salt Lake, anyway?” Ray asks, rubbing his eyes and snapping Geoff from the dredges of his thoughts. 

Ryan, sitting next to him in the back, is already on the Wikipedia page. “Uh... hm. Not very much, it seems.”

“Great idea you had there, Ryan,” Michael mocks. “Really well thought-out.”

“Okay, well, there’s museums, and a planetarium.. but I know you guys aren’t really into that kind of thing.” Ryan bites his lip. “Uh, the only interesting part of this article is the fact that the _High School Musical_ movies were filmed there.”

“Oh, sweet, we’re _definitely_ going, then,” says Michael wryly, while Ray whispers “I’d _bet on it_ ” to himself.

“Don’t get salty, Michael,” Geoff scolds, then chokes on a laugh. “Heh. Salty. Get it? ‘Cause we’re going to Salt Lake City? No one?”

“Oh my _God_ , shut _up_ , Geoff.”

“Look,” says Ryan. “Let’s just go and check it out this afternoon. We don’t have to do much, and then we can get back on the road tomorrow. It’s on the way, anyway.”

Michael shrugs. “Fuck, why not. Someone pull up the directions.”

So they drive that long, dry morning, and the world is a blur, and Geoff dozes, and there are a couple of bathroom breaks, and it seems far too soon when Ray spots the sign welcoming them to ‘The Crossroads of the West’.

They drive through the city, and it’s not special, really, just buildings and people and mountains and nothing particularly eye-catching. Ryan looks up a couple of history museums in the area, and lets out a groan.

“Man, these are so _cool_. Too bad none of y’all will go with me, but, whatever. I can do it alone.”

_He looks so sad,_ Geoff thinks. _It’s adorable_.

And then, _oh no_.

“Aw, I’ll go with you,” Michael offers. “Y’know. Could be fun.”

“Really?” Ryan beams. _Fucking nerd._

So they form their plan. Ryan and Michael are going museum-hopping for a few hours. Ray and Geoff are going to have lunch and find a cheap hotel somewhere. Geoff isn’t really listening, through- just cursing himself, over and over and over again, for doing this, for ruining it.

They park downtown on a buzzing street next to a pizza place Ray’s been eyeing. Ryan is absorbed in his phone, probably reading up on the history of the city or some pretentious history-buff shit like that. They get out and stretch their legs, all letting out monstrous groans and taking in the fresh air.

“Let’s split, gang!” Michael says in his best old-timey cartoon-character impression. Ryan grins, and drags him away by the collar. “ _To the_ \- wait, where are we going again? Right. To the National History Museum!”

Geoff smiles thinly as he watches them walk down the block, though every part of his brian is screaming at him to _leave, just leave, you’ve fucked up, stop looking at him_. It’s a terrible day for brooding- the sky is blazing blue and the clouds are fluffy and everyone is way too happy for his mood.

_Fuck my entire life._

“I’m onto you,” Ray announces casually, out of the blue, as soon as Michael and Ryan are out of sight, spinning on the balls of his feet to point at Geoff’s throat. “And your... _pining_.”

Well, that’s certainly a surprise, and Geoff takes a step back. “What?” His voice cracks in the middle of the word, and he screw his eyes shut in regret.

“Geoff. It’s literally so obvious. What the fuck.”

“Uh. I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

Ray rolls his eyes. “Cut the shit. Tell me about Ryan.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a fucking _second_ , here-”

“Aw, that’s adorable, you’re blushing! Michael’s gonna laugh his ass off.”

“Oh, don’t you dare.”

He laughs. “Oh, I dare. Anyway, like I said. Ryan. Tell me everything, asshole.”

“ _Uh-_ ”

“Because I swear to God, you two have been lowkey flirting for about two years now.”

“What. No, we haven’t, I literally realized I liked him last night-”

Geoff claps his hand over his mouth. _Shit. Fuck. No, no, no no no no NO._

And there it is. 

The realization.

One day. It took _one day,_ holy _fuck_ , he’s screwed, it took him one day to fall completely head-over-heels for his best fucking friend, he’s screwed, he’s supposed to be the punk one, the apathy man, the boy unattached.

He’s screwed.

He’s not supposed to do this. It’s, like, rule seven of bro code. _Don’t be gay for your best friend._

Geoff runs his fingers through his hair. “How.. how did you even know?”

“Because what you’re feeling right now? Is exactly what I felt with Michael. Two years ago. Um, either that, or my gaydar is mega-evolving into gay-crush-dar. I mean, sorry, _pansexual_ -crush-dar.”

Geoff breathes in. Breathes out. He can’t bring himself to laugh. He’s fucked. He’s so, so _fucked_.

“Ray, if you tell him, I’ll kill you _._ ”

He only frowns, a knowing glint in his eyes. “If you don’t tell him, it’ll kill _you_.”

Geoff just stares at him. There is nothing to say.

So they stop, and go into the pizza place and eat without mentioning it, but the thought is worming its way into Geoff’s brain and corroding it, second by second, neuron by neuron.

_If I don’t tell him, it’ll kill me._

_If I do, it’ll ruin this._

Either way, Geoff's fucked.

 

* * *

 

 

 “is love always the

flood or is it the hungry,

open-mouth wonder?”

** \- Emily Palermo, _haiku ii_ **


	2. ACT 2: hurling their bodies down the freeway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> strap yourselves in, kids, it's gonna be a wild ride.  
> (my tumblr is lindsqyjones and my twitter is @saltwaterrayne!)

 

“It's a road movie,

         a double-feature, two boys striking out across America, while desire,

                   like a monster, crawls up out of the lake

with all of us watching, with all of us wondering if these two boys will

         find a way to figure it out.”

** \- Richard Siken, _Driving, Not Washing_ **

  

* * *

 

**Just outside of Salt Lake City, Utah**

**July 16**

It starts to rain when they leave the city.

It’s Ryan’s turn to drive, and he grumbles his way along the Lincoln Highway as they head for Wyoming. Water’s coming down heavy, coming down in sheets of glass and pitter-patter, everything awash in white and mist and radio crackle.

Geoff is still shocked silent by his earlier realization, and can barely stand to share a glance with Ryan, let alone talk to him. His heart beats too fast, too irregularly. The atmosphere in the car is thin and fragile and everyone is getting restless.

Ray is trying his best to crack jokes, but they fall flat and wither in the ice of the AC, and only Michael has the energy to force out a laugh. But it’s quiet, at least, and Geoff welcomes the time to think and breathe and feel sorry for himself. Yes, it’s miserable. Yes, he likes it that way.

They pull over at a Taco Bell after a couple of hours of awkward, hanging silence and desolate highways. Michael and Ray dash out, yelling promises to buy everyone’s regular orders. And then it’s Geoff and Ryan and the Volvo not-quite-convertible, and the parking lot frozen in fog.

“Are you.. mad at me?” Ryan asks, a hesitant tiny thing, words pushed out with far too much effort.

“What? No!” Geoff says immediately. And he’s gone again, setting fire to his own brain again, because this is nothing he’d ever expect and _Ryan thinks I’m mad at him-_

“Really?” Ryan’s chewing at his lip. “Because you’re being all quiet and broody and stuff, and you’re never like that, and it’s always after you see me. What’s- what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Just.. didn’t sleep well?”

Ryan’s expression is ponderous, then disappointed. “Okay. Yeah.”

“We’re _good_ , Ryan.”

“Yeah, we’re good. Just let me know if anything’s ever, y’know, troubling you. Or whatever.”

Geoff tries to laugh. “Will do,” he lies. “Will fuckin’ do.”

When they’re back on the road, tacos getting shoveled down, everything is back to normal. Michael puts on a ska album, and Ray is complaining about having to go to the bathroom, and Ryan is scolding him, and it feels like they’re back to being one little happy dysfunctional family.

And so they drive and they drive and they drive. They reach Wyoming in a couple of hours, the Rockies meeting the plains meeting the trees. It’s an odd sort of patchwork place- they drive on twisting mountain roads to arrive at grassy flat fields that stretch for miles on end, then get lost down backwood lanes in sprawling forests. It’s a great place to think, but Geoff doesn’t want to spare a thought for his situation. It burns his chest open. 

This is no place for doubt. No place for rifts between friends- no, not friends. Is it still friendship when one likes the other too much to bear? Will he ever return to feeling nothing but fraternal with Ryan? His thoughts are a plague upon his mind, so he distracts himself with watching the road, watching the trees and rocky crags fly past them at breakneck speed.

After a drive-thru dinner and a few futile attempts to bring up their energy through half-hearted _High School Musical_ karaoke, Geoff finds himself the only one awake as he barrels down the highway, across the border to Nebraska. He’ll keep going until he can’t.

The streetlights flash by, illuminating the car in false sunshine for scattered half-seconds. He looks to his right, with Ryan curled up in the passenger seat like some sort of cat. 

The light makes his face glow golden, Apollo reborn. His beard is growing longer. His eyebrows are furrowed and worried, even unconsciously, but when are they not these days? He mumbles in his sleep- and Geoff can feel his heart dropping straight to his knees. He.. kind of wants to squeeze Ryan’s face, if he’s being perfectly honest, but that’s besides the point.

The point is, this is is not a love story. 

This cannot be a love story.

Geoff knows that all too well.

 

* * *

 

**Brady, Nebraska**

**July 17**

There is one thing Geoff hasn’t tried yet. 

It’s nine in the morning and his friends (and Ryan) have all gone gallivanting to some shitty tourist trap, but he’d plead exhaustion from driving so long and so late. He flops onto his motel bed and dials the only number he really trusts with his secrets.

“Jack? Jack? Yeah, hey, it’s Geoff.”

“Oh, hi! Aren’t you on a road trip with your best bro-friends, or whatever? Because Brandon’s been complaining about having to take your shift for, like, the past three days. Wait, where _are_ you? Why are you calling me?”

“I’m in some shitty motel in Nebraska. No joke, the others are literally out looking for the world’s biggest ball of stamps. It’s stupid. They’re stupid. But, uh, back to the point, I have a.. problem. And you might be the only person I trust to give me actually good advice.”

“Geoff, that’s so sweet, but if you’re stuck in a port-a-potty in Shitsburg, Nebraska and need me to pick you up, I’m blocking your number.”

“No! No, Jack, not that kind of problem. I’m having... a _romance_ problem. Hey, this is serious. _Jack_ \- stop laughing!”

“Sorry! Holy _fuck_. Seriously? Geoff Ramsey, notorious punk nihilist asshole, has a _romance problem?_ This is fucking hilarious! Oh, shit, is it Michael? Because that’s gonna suck hard. Ray might be small, but he’s fast. Don’t risk it. He’ll grind you into dust.”

“No, _no!_ It’s not Michael. It’s- it’s _Ryan_.”

“Oh. _Oh._ ”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is, I don’t know if he likes me back. Like, _like_ -likes me back. And I don’t wanna, like, ruin shit, you know? Like, what if it makes everything extra awkward? I-”

“ _Geoff._ Chill out. You sound like a twelve-year-old girl.”

“I feel like a twelve-year-old girl!”

“Look. You won’t know until you ask him, and if you don’t ask him, you’ll probably never know. You decide if it’s worth the risk.”

“Aw, Jack, _please_. Just.. tell me what to fuckin’ do. I’ll never decide by myself.”

“Okay. Tell him.”

“I can’t.”

“Then don’t.”

“I _can’t_.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re hopeless.”

He hangs up, and Geoff sits, thinking, on the motel bed. 

There is no good option here.

There is only hurt, or be hurt.

 

* * *

 

**Route 66, Illinois**

**July 17-18**

So they’re on a road that’s straight and fast and endless; it’s a long, long while until the next exit, and Geoff is just beginning to yawn. It’s getting near midnight, and Michael and Ray dozed off hours ago, but Ryan is still awake, reading his book by the light of his phone. Michael’s is still plugged into the speakers, playing something light and indie and quiet.

Geoff knows he won’t be able to drive safely all night, and without speaking, he finds space to pull over on the side of the highway. Ryan looks up from his pages.

“Guess we’re sleeping in the car tonight.”

“Yeah, well, it’s probably just as comfortable as a motel bed, and cheaper.” He pauses. “Wanna sit with me until I fall asleep?”

So, it’s midnight, and it’s freezing, and it really shouldn’t be, and Ray and Michael are passed out in the backseat, and Geoff and Ryan wordlessly clamber onto the roof of the car. The breeze hits their face and Geoff laughs something sweet, something ecstatic. It’s freezing, but Ryan’s warm, and he’s grinning like a mad kind of fool. They don’t talk, yet, they just sit and listen to themselves breathe, listen to the air whistle into their lungs and back through their teeth, listen to a world gone silent but for screeches of tires on asphalt, screeches of owls in the night. They both want to sit there forever.

So it’s pitch black, and the wind is singing sweetness through the trees, and they look upon the road and take in the cold of the air, take in the warmth of each other’s bodies pressed up together and Geoff is barely holding _himself_ together and he feels blind, he feels too big for his body, he breathes and he feels like sparks are striking between his bones.

The interstate is their whole world, now, rushing, orange-lit in blue night, now, all-encompassing, everything around them in shadow. All they can see is scattered light- the stars, the headlights, the eyes lit silver by the moon, both looking and dropping their gazes in time with the beats of their fluttering, hummingbird hearts.

So it’s midnight, and Ryan exhales into the stretching silence. There is a pensive sort of crease in his brow, and his lip is raw, well-bitten. Since the trip has begun his eyes have become faraway, blurry, almost searching. 

_But.. for what?_

“So,” Geoff starts, carefully, trying not to trip on his words. “So. How’s- how’s it going?”

“What?” Ryan says it with a laugh, with crinkles in his eyes. Geoff’s heart hurts to look at him, so instead he focuses on the cars all speeding past them, trails of yellow, bursting fireworks in the ink of midnight.

“I don’t know. I-” He pauses, collects his thoughts. There are still so many questions to ask. So much to learn. His next query rips off of his tongue without asking permission from his head, and it tastes of risk. 

“What are you running from?”

It’s the kind of question that could only ever be asked here, now, _them_. Only these two, in this dark, on this car, when they are trying to chase the night and the feeling of being together in isolation.

“I’m... sorry?”

“I mean it, Rye.” He does. “You’re not just doing it for fun. I know that. You’re not like that. You’re running away, dude. Or, you’re running _to_ something. I don’t know. Maybe I’m stupid. But.. I’m curious. Why are we _here?_ Why now?”

“Now you’re just getting too existential,” Ryan says, chuckling. “What am I _running_ from? Jesus, Geoff. That’s, uh, that’s deep. Uh.”

“Wow, I feel like a fuckin’ idiot now, huh? Sorry. That was really weird of me.” Geoff tries to crack a smile, and looks at his feet as they swing from the hood of the car. He’s messed it up again.

“No, no. It’s fine. Just.. pretty random, I guess.” He scratches at his stubble. “I mean, surface-level, it’s like I said. We’ve been friends- all of us- for _four years_. And I’m gonna be busy with college, you’re gonna be promoted sometime soon, and this is the last month we’ll really, properly be able to be.. like _this_ , y’know?” He lifts his arm to gesture at the highway, a sad sort of thin smile dancing across his lips. “Free.”

Geoff is struck. _Free_. It’s the sort of word, the sort of concept you take for granted. The sort of idea that doesn’t sink in until you’re locked in a cubicle at a nine-to-five, the sort of feeling that burns you with nostalgia twenty years too late in your suburb with your two-point-five kids and wife and mortgage. It’s a feeling that burns you with wishes.

“So?” he prompts. “And.. under that surface?”

Ryan casts his eyes downwards. “I don’t know myself,” he admits. Quiet. Bursting. “I’m running from _me_.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t- it sounds dumb. Sorry. I just still haven’t got myself figured out yet. I’m going to college, and then- what? Suburbia? A family? Who am I, right? Who am I to fucking believe that’ll make me happy?” Ryan’s voice is getting husky, a little broken around the edges, and he sighs. “It all seems so pointless. And I don’t know how I feel about anything. I’m just going through the motions. It doesn’t feel real.”

“A road trip, though?” Geoff forces himself to say, though he’s still reeling from the _truth_ of it all. They are not so different, he and Ryan. They are not such separate creatures.

“Well. If I’m going to spend two weeks thinking about my life choices, I gotta do it with friends, right?”

Geoff’s heart swells three sizes. 

He’s fucked, but in that moment, on the roof of that car, it doesn’t seem like such a horrible fate- to dream, to want, to quietly pine. Ryan makes it so easy. So simple.

In that dark and blinding night, Geoff tucks away his heartbreak and listens to Ryan talk- just menial things, every thought that surfaces. It’s so peaceful, under that new moon and star-shine light, and he doesn’t want the moment to stop.

May his life never change.

May this ride never end.

They are alone, and the stars swirl like milk, like the slow waltz, the yearning dance, and they watch the skies collide above them as they murmur hopes and dreams and lose themselves to the gale, to the midnight.

And, yet, below them, there are whispers that they don’t hear.

 

“Can you see them?”

“Can’t see shit, Michael. It’s dark as fuck.”

“What are they talking about?”

“I don’t know, they’re being quiet. Probably nothing interesting.”

“Think they’re gonna finally tell each other?”

“Do you?”

“Nah. They’re both assholes. I’m starting to think they might actually like dancing around each other.”

“Lame. This is getting old, fast.”

“Patience, young one. Give them time.”

“Yeah, whatever, Obi-Wan Jones. They’re _cute_ and they need to kiss, like, yesterday.”

“Don’t tell Ryan that, he’ll blush and say that Geoff deserves better.”

“Did he really say that to you? That’s fuckin’ adorable.”

“I _know_. Fuck. They really do need to kiss. Can’t we just tell them ourselves?”

“And ruin the surprise? There has to be build-up. Amateur.”

“Amateur? I asked you out first!”

“Yeah, but I asked you second.”

“No, you didn’t. You were a shy bitch about it, if I do remember correctly.”

“Okay, yeah, but I wouldn’t have liked it if Ryan had told me you were gonna ask me out a week before.”

“Guess that’s true. But they really do have to hurry their asses up, or I’m going to drop so many fucking hints. So many.”

“I thought you were already doing that.”

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Ray. I will rain fiery love-bug Hell upon them. Just you wait.”

“...I’m scared now.”

 

* * *

 

**Amherst, Ohio**

**July 18**

“We can’t just keep eating cheetos for every meal,” Ryan groans, mouth full of chips despite himself. “It’s going to actually kill us. We’re gonna die of malnutrition.”

“Ryan the big fancy word guy,” Michael says under his breath, as if the joke hasn’t been run into the ground enough already.

It’s the day after their talk on the car roof, after a rather uncomfortable sleep, and they’re just leaving Indiana- and Ryan’s worried about their health, because he’s the responsible one, the maternal one, so of course he is. Everyone suddenly misses their mothers.

“I’m serious!” he says, voice raised like he’s telling them to go wash the dishes. “We need to eat something substantial.”

“Shut up, mom,” Ray mutters. 

“A real meal. You’re going to get super-diabetes.”

“ _No_. Shut up.” Ray’s shoveling chips in faster, now, as if Ryan’s going to take them away any second.

“At the very least, can we just go to iHop, or something? Or any place with hot food?”

Michael’s face lights up.

Geoff takes the next exit.

And that is how the four of them end up at a 24-hour iHop in Ohio at three in the afternoon, eating pancakes and mozzarella sticks and generally having a good time.

That is also how they find Gavin Free. Sort of.

It’s an average meal otherwise. Ryan is (probably unknowingly) flirting with their waitress, and Ray is tearing the paper napkin into equal thin strips, and Michael is digging into a ridiculous, toppling tower of tooth-rotting ‘cinnamon roll’ pancakes, and Geoff is gnawing at a fry.

It’s hot in the restaurant, and the sun’s in Geoff’s eyes, and he has to admit that seeing Ryan chat up the waitress has riled him up just a little, so he excuses himself to take a breather outside.

He’s been clean for months, per Ryan’s insistence, but a tiny part of him is itching for a cigarette. He leans against the dumpster outside the restaurant and taps his fingers against his sides to keep them busy.

That’s when he sees the boy on the side of the road.

He’s tan and brunet and honest-to-God a little bit cute, with nothing more than a backpack and a sign that reads ‘JERSEY CITY OR BUST’. He’s sticking his thumb out, but no one is stopping, and his shoulders drop dejectedly. The boy’s completely miserable, Geoff realizes, and a spark of pity flares in his chest.

The very thought that anyone could actively want to go anywhere in New Jersey is amusing to Geoff, so he walks over to the guy. 

“Hey, you okay there, buddy?” he asks. The boy perks up immediately.

“Erm. Well, _okay_ is a stretch, to be honest, but-”

Geoff stops him. “Are you British?” he laughs. “Seriously?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you here, then?”

The boy rolls his eyes. “I bloody well tried to make my gap year interesting, didn’t I? Hitchhiking. Everyone _said_ go to Europe but I had to go off to the US of freaking A to get broke and lost and-” The boy trails off. “Do you have a car? I’m Gavin. Gavin Free. I need to get to New Jersey.”

“What? Yes? Wait, New Jersey? _Why?_ ”

Gavin makes a sort of shrug. “Just thought it might be interesting.”

That’s how Geoff returns to iHop, dragging a petulant British boy with too-spiky hair who’s practically asking for a roadside murder at this point. By the ear. Not even a joke.

He’s making a sound between a cry and a squeak the entire time, which goes over just about as well as you’d expect.

“Who the fuck is squealing?” Michael asks immediately. “Who the fuck are you?”

Gavin’s marveling at the sugar-oozing food on the tables, and whips around when he hears the obnoxious Jersey accent. “Sorry, boy, what were you saying?”

“Said, you were fuckin’ squealing, numbnuts. And who’re you calling _boy?_ ”

“Dunno, you look like a bit of a child,” Gavin says, and Michael practically bristles.

“Listen, you fuckta-”

Geoff shoves him. “ _Michael._ This is Gavin. He needs a ride to Jersey.”

“ _Jersey?_ ” Michael spits, incredulous, that old accent coming through again. “This twink bitch is heading for Jersey? Wait, why would anyone ever want to go to Jersey?”

“That’s what I said!”

Ryan sighs. “Geoff, I don’t know if we have the time for a detour like this.”

“Oi, wait,” Gavin says. “First of all, _you_ promised.” He points at Geoff, who rolls his eyes. “Second of all, I swear I won’t be a bother- seriously! You can just drop me off as close as you can, and I’ll figure it out from there.”

“Let’s just go already,” Ray pipes up. “If he turns out to be a serial killer, don’t blame me.”

 

Thankfully, Gavin Free is not, in fact, a serial killer- which they learn too quickly from how incredibly and impossibly clumsy he is. He’s in the middle seat in the back of a _car_. There is no good way to explain the amount of times he knocks something over when there’s barely anything in the car to begin with.

They start with proper introductions as they rapidly approach Pennsylvania- well, about as proper as they can manage.

“Ryan and Geoff are the suburban mom and cool dad of the group, respectively,” Michael explains with a smirk. “I’m their golden child, and Ray’s my dumb boyfriend.” He waits patiently as Gavin squints, looking like gears are spinning in his brain. “They’re not actually my parents,” he adds. “In case you didn’t catch the joke.”

“Right. Got it. So, wait, which one of you is gay, again?”

Geoff decides to make it simple for his tiny brain and gestures to all four of them. He nods, biting his lip. 

The ride from Ohio to Gavin’s suggested drop-off point in southern New York state should take about eight hours, uninterrupted. Those eight hours are an eclectic mixture of ridiculous fun and horrendous aggravation- which is what Gavin is, in a way. A ten-thousand thread-count linen pillow on top of a whoopee cushion.

First, he tells them his long, extended life story- a rich British kid, private school with uniforms and all, taking off to America to escape going to university. Ryan is rolling his eyes through most of it, and Ray dozes off halfway through. 

But then, the hypothetical questions begin.

And Geoff starts to wonder if there’s a way to throw himself out of the car and live.

“What if..”

“ _Don’t start._ ”

“Can- can babies float, d’ya think?”

And then, “Alright, you get a million dollars, but you can only ever wear spandex for the rest of your life.”

And _then_ , “..What if, you could breathe underwater, but _only_ in Red Bull?”

“Dude, fuck yeah, I’d take it! That would be the best shitty superpower!”

“DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM, RAY.”

And there goes Ohio in all of its flat and grassy splendor. They cross into sunny Pennsylvania with Lake Erie in their backdrop, a sprawling mirror of water with no end in sight. Of course, no one is marveling at the shining beauty, because Gavin’s spilled his drink. Again.

“I have to piss!” he announces soon after. Geoff doesn’t bat an eye.

“We left the gas station forty-five minutes ago. Fucking hold it. That’s rule one.”

“There’s _rules?_ Who makes rules for a road trip? You have got to pull that stick out of your arse, Ramsey.”

“Stop calling me that.”

Then it’s only a short while before they find themselves in New York, and Ray perks up, head out the window and into the wind. Gavin manages to shut himself up by the time they get dinner at a drive-thru McDonalds, and he eats his fries in moderate silence. 

It seems too soon that they arrive at the place where the highway splits, just before they cross the Hudson River. Selkirk, New York is a desolate place with hardly more than a gas station, but Ryan swears Google Maps never lies, and they decide that this is where Gavin should get off. He’s smiling, still, cracking jokes and annoying them like the gnat he is, but the bags under his eyes are too dark to ignore. 

They all feel guilty for leaving him.

Geoff walks him to a tiny motel a few minutes from the side of the highway, making sure he’s got enough cash to spend the night there. Because, fuck it, he’s feeling protective tonight, and the guy’s, like, five years old.

Gavin turns to him before he goes into the building. “Thanks, Ramsey. For everything. Really.”

“Yeah, yeah, piss off.” But he’s smiling, and he’s gonna miss the kid. Hypotheticals aside, he was pretty goddamn hilarious. 

“And, hey, Geoff?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

Gavin grins- something sharp and wicked and knowing. “Just tell Ryan you’re in love with him already. For God’s sake. And do it quickly, _Jesus_ \- the sexual tension in that car is absolutely disgusting.”

“Wha-”

“ _Bye_ , Geoff!”

He shakes his head and watches Gavin stroll through the doors. Geoff doesn’t want to admit it, but by God, he is scared of how easy it is for people to notice his pining.

He makes the short walk back to the car and plasters on a smile for them.

“Who’s ready to drive until four in the morning?”

 

* * *

 

**Provincetown, Cape Cod, Massachusetts**

**July 20**  

So, this is Cape Cod.

This is where it ends.

The top is down for the first time that week, and the ocean winds ruffle their hair like they’re old friends. They’ve been driving for a very long time to get there on schedule, and now they’ve driven to the edge, the very edge, and it seems like the end of their world. The sun is setting the sea aflame, the sky ablaze. The road ends where the beach begins- rocky, white-sand, endless and ending all at once.

The road ends, and the beach begins, and no one is ready to turn homeward. 

Certainly not Ryan, who’s clambered on the roof of the Volvo again, and is staring at the sea- at once wistful, and somber, and simmering. Nor Geoff, who leans against the car door and watches the sunset bathe Ryan’s profile in pink-orange-red light and wishes for this moment in a bottle. Nor Michael, who’s still in the backseat because he doesn’t want to get out and admit that they’re there, already, already. Nor Ray, who’s quietly sitting on a rock running his fingers through the fine sand with dejection running like tears from his eyes.

And the sun continues to set. And they all continue to be silent.

Finally, finally, Ray pushes himself up, coughs, puts his hands in his pockets. “Anyone wanna walk with me to get food? I saw a 7-11 not far back. We can have a picnic.” He’s whispering, as if this is a secret place, as if this beach is holy ground- and it is, it really is.

Michael gets out of the backseat without speaking, and him and Ray walk away from the moment together, holding hands and trying not to feel like the world has ended.

There is some piece of a fire burning holes in Geoff’s stomach. It’s cold, here, in the sea breeze, but he doesn’t feel it, because all he feels is some strange nostalgia, some flash of adrenaline and anxiety and energy and Ryan is still sitting on the hood of the car and _this is it_ and _this is not the end, this is the beginning, this is where it will all start and the sun will rise and this is it, here, now._

_Now._

Now.

Because this is where everything returns to in the end. Ocean spray and reaching water and the sun. Bodies to bones turn back to saltwater- sweat, and tears, and the sea. The road ends, and the beach begins. 

Fitting, isn’t it, that this is where Geoff spills over.

The light is fading, but not so much that they can’t see each other. They’re bathed in lavender dusk, the two of them, silver metal cold on their legs, words hot and waiting impatient on their tongues.

“I-” Geoff starts, then stops, then regrets. “You okay?” It’s a safe question. It’s getting him nowhere.

“Huh?” Ryan looks up. Pauses. “I- I don’t know. Fuck, I really don’t. We made it, though. We got here, and that’s a good thing.” He and Geoff lock eyes. “Right?”

“Uh-”

“I thought it would make me feel better,” Ryan interrupts, mile-a-minute, voice cracking like an earthquake. “I really did. I thought.. once I was here, I’d have all the answers.” He drops his arms. “Now I just have more questions than I started with.”

“Like what?”

“Like...” He breathes in, and out, and in again. “It doesn’t matter. We’re going home tomorrow, and it’ll sort itself out eventually. It was.. it was just a road trip. No idea why I thought it would give me, like, my eureka moment, where suddenly everything makes sense and I know what I’m gonna do with my life and I understand my own feelings-” He stops himself. Lets out his breath. “It didn’t happen. So, whatever. We’re going home.”

“Ry-”

“I said, we’re going home. It’s fine. _I’m_ fine. Just.. disappointed.”

Geoff doesn’t feel disappointed, though, there in the periwinkle trail of a sun gone down too early, there in the faded rays next to the boy he is in love with _too early_ , and he is thinking it now, now, and Ryan is smiling but it’s sad, somehow, and _oh God,_ Geoff is fallen and _oh God,_ the moment is fading as quick as the light-

“I have something to tell you.”

The words tumble out easy, so much simpler than he thought it would be, tasting of salt and terror and clarity. Regret never comes. Only energy.

He slides off the roof and lets the momentum carry him to the beach, the ocean, the never-ending sky. He stands with his shoes sinking into the wet sand, but he doesn’t care, and the waves wash, freezing, over his socks- and then Ryan is there, every movement he makes screaming _worry_.

“Geoff? What’s going on? Are you-” He stops, breathes. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Geoff begins, and is cut off by Ryan putting his hands on his shoulders. He fixes him with a wide-eye tearing-up look.

“Are you leaving?”

Geoff steps back in surprise, shakes the hands off. “No! Holy fuck, is that what you thought? Why would I leave?”

Ryan drops his arms. “I just thought.. you’ve been moody, and stuff. I thought maybe you were going to run away or something.”

“No.”

“Okay. That’s good. We’re good. Right?”

“Yeah. We’re...”

Ryan clenches his fists. “Spit it out, man!”

So he does.

“I like you, Ryan.” 

He’s looking out to sea. He can’t turn to see his face. Not now, in the glow, in the after.

“Well, yeah, I like you too-”

“No.”

That’s the only word he needs. The light becomes dark, all sudden-like and Geoff just wants it to be over.

He just wants to _know_.

“Oh.” That’s all Ryan says for a while. “Oh.”

Geoff doesn’t speak again. The reality of it crashes over him- still not regret, though, just the realization that it’s probably not going to work.

And then-

_ And then- _

“You fuck.” It’s a laugh, a bubble bursting. And then, “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope,” Geoff whispers, still not looking, heart still thumping. He doesn’t know what Ryan means. It’s probably not good. It’s never any good.

“So.. this is what was going on with you this week? _Me?_ ”

“Um. Pretty much?”

Geoff curses himself, and turns ever-so-slowly to his left. Ryan’s all in purple and orange and the sun’s behind a cloud and _what’s that expression_ \- no.

No.

Ryan is _grinning_ \- it’s something desperate and reaching and relieved, and Geoff has never felt so insanely okay and it is going to be _fine_ -

“Geoff. You dick,” says Ryan, a smile turning his voice sugar-coated, and then they are hugging, and he is so warm, and the wind picks up and the sand’s in their faces and they don’t even care, because this is it, this is now, this is everything.

This is Geoff’s eureka moment.

The road ends, and the beach begins, and the beach ends, and the sea begins, and on and on the cycle pinwheels across the Atlantic, and forever and ever goes the horizon. 

Endless, and ending.

“So, this is a thing?” he says, pulling away, hands on Ryan’s waist (and he never wants to stop touching him, and their bodies sing something electric-).

“I guess it is now.”

“How long’ve you liked me?” he asks, too enthusiastic, too exalted in the relief.

“About a year? On and off?” Ryan laughs. “Look, Geoff, it’s crossed my mind a couple times. And.. it makes sense now, I think- everything. You’re making it all right again.”

Geoff can’t help but feel bubbly at that. And he knows what Ryan is talking about- how the pieces slip so gently into place. How the mind shakes, and shivers.

This night is endless.

This night is blinding.

They sit there, on the beach, watching the sky blacken in jet and charcoal, talking over each other in their desire to begin. 

“Yo, did you two fuck yet?” Michael yells from behind them, and they jump. “Or are you waiting ‘til marriage?”

Geoff turns to look at him- and Ray behind- and kisses Ryan on his fuzzy cheek in response. He clutches Ryan’s hand tight and lifts it up as if to say _I won, I won, I won._

Ray’s eyes are wide as the moon. He drops his bag of snacks on the asphalt. “HOLY SHIT, YOU DID IT, RAMSEY.”

Michael’s mouth hangs open for a very, very long time.

They eat their convenience store picnic on the beach, in the dark, with one of Geoff’s classic rock albums playing from his phone. Everything has become perfect all at once and he doesn’t know how to deal with it, how to really feel how balanced his heart is.

The road ends where the beach begins, and he knows he’s in over his head with this, and it doesn’t matter because here he is, in a strange state, on the wrong coast, surrounded by people that love him. 

Michael laughs his head-back cackle, dimples deep and stretching. Ray takes a swig of his drink and claps his palms on his thighs. Ryan sits, legs outstretched, watching them with a soft smile dancing across his face.

Geoff lies back and watches the stars dance their waltz to the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Has there ever been a night so perfect? So lovely? 

The beach begins, and so does the rest of his life.

This is now. 

This is _eureka_.  

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know how to fall in love here. It’s never quiet enough to know  
what I’m thinking when you pull your hair back and smile, but I know

that I don’t want to leave, not you, not here, not with this, with everything  
feeling so delicate, the space between us a branch I’m not sure is worth breaking.”

**\- Shinji Moon, _We Make Our Land On Allen Street_  **


	3. ACT 3: to the smell of gasoline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on tumblr at lindsqyjones, and twitter at @saltwaterrayne! <3 (sorry this took so long whoops)  
> -E

“What I mean is, I’m tired

of everything gorgeous. Of the burden

of burning. Of wondering

when.”

** \- Ali Shapiro, _If I Leave You Then Maybe I Won’t Have To Miss You So Much_ **

 

* * *

 

**Cape Cod, Massachusetts**

**July 21**

They decide to spend the next day at the Cape.

Ryan says it’s because of the sights; Geoff says it’s to rest up for the long drive back; Michael says it’s because they deserve at least some time outside of the car this trip- but Ray says it like it is, in their car, on the way to their motel. 

“So, we’re staying because no one wants to go home, right? Everyone else is thinking what I’m thinking?”

Michael raises one slow eyebrow. Ryan nods, gaze downcast. Geoff rolls his eyes but his stomach clenches with the truth of it. 

It’s hard to feel real, on the road, going forward. It’s hard to remember the world that they left. That’s what they chase, Geoff figures- that feeling of absolute uncertainty, absolute unpredictability that comes with blissful ignorance. The earth is now a road to them. They’ll keep moving as long as they like.

So they’re at the warm-water beach along Nantucket Sound, and sipping at energy drinks, and soaking in the hot, hot sun, and it feels like summer, like a postcard, and it’s hard to think of home here. The sand sizzles under their bare feet. Sweat pearls on their foreheads but it’s the good sort of sweat, the one that tells tales of tropics and wild nights and kissing on the beach at dawn.

Geoff wants to drink up this weather from a straw. Oregon doesn’t seem real at this point- not freezing, damp Oregon, no, that can’t be a place that actually exists. They have all forgotten what rain feels like on their skin. There is only _here_. There is only sand and sun and sea, forever, forever, forever.

Ryan and Michael are stripped down to their boxers and splashing in the water, seafoam sticking to their thighs. There they stand, freckles and curls and stubble and strong hands, all illuminated in the light glancing off the waves- Geoff and Ray sit watching them from their scratchy blanket on the sand, both smirking, both watching those muscles ripple without making any sort of effort at all. _Win-win._

They go to get ice-cream after, at some hipster shack with half a hundred flavors. They sit outside on the patio under a red-striped sun shade. Ray has chocolate smudged around his face. Michael wipes it off him with dabbing fingers, snickering. 

Ryan’s barely touched his vanilla scoop, and Geoff gestures to it, shooting him a confused glance. He just shrugs, stirring the half-melted mixture. Geoff chalks it up to post-arrival sadness and clasps Ryan’s palm.

_Maybe we’ll all be happier on the road._

“I don’t want to go home,” Michael whines later that day as they walk down the beach, throwing his arms around Ray’s neck with a huff. “I just wanna stay here forever with you guys and eat ice cream and have swimmies every day.”

“Yeah,” says Ray in a sullen sort of tone. “Yeah. Oregon sucks.”

Geoff is silent. Ryan sighs. The water washes over their toes and it roots them to the sand and they all want to stay on the beach as long as they can.

The afternoon passes lazily, sweetly, and then it comes back to this- Ryan refreshing Google Maps and trying to alter their route. It comes back to this- everyone in the car after a dinner at Wendy’s, trying to inhale as much salty air as they can.

It comes back to this- them, not wanting to go home, and yet, not being able to afford to stay any longer.

They get back on the highway when dusk falls over the sands.

And so begins the end.

 

* * *

  

**Irving, New York**

**July 22**  

They’re in a motel in New York state the next night, and Geoff and Ryan are sitting on their double bed and waiting for someone to make the first move. Geoff’s a little buzzed from the shitty 7-11 beer they’d gotten, and Ryan’s restless, so it doesn’t take too long until they’re half tangled in each other.

Both of them are new to this, this game of _boyfriends_ , so it takes Geoff completely by surprise when Ryan takes his cheeks in his soft palms. Blue eyes stare, sweet and round.

“Hi,” he starts. Laughs. 

“You’re a dork,” Geoff replies, rolling his eyes. “Dude. We should totally, like, kiss, or bang, or somethin’.”

“Yeah, probably.” Ryan hovers there, though, for a moment, face right up against Geoff’s, worrying his lip between his teeth.

And they wait. 

Time ticks so slowly when you’re half an inch from someone else’s mouth.

“Oh, for fuck’s _sake_ ,” Geoff groans, and pulls Ryan forward, and then _oh,_ their lips are colliding, and he has never felt so alive, so feather-light.

This is like every damn coming-of-age movie he’s ever seen. When the main characters finally kiss and then they _understand_. It all makes sense now, he reckons. Every hormone in him is colliding in just the right way and there is nothing more eclectic than knowing your place on this planet- right now, for Geoff, his place is here. His place is with Ryan.

So he’s in love with this boy. He’s head over heels for this _boy_ , and it will be stupid and it will be pretentious and it will be beautiful. Of course it will. There’s enough beauty in Ryan to blind him twice over.

Geoff knows, one day, they will hurt each other. It’s inevitable. They will burn each other from the inside out and they will hate each other and they will not remember this moment. He also knows, one day, an asteroid will collide with the Earth and all life will be obliterated. They will, one day, clash and crash and burn. Because that’s how the story always goes. 

It is perfect, and then it is not. 

It is living, and then it is dead.

Now, though, now- he concentrates on kissing Ryan as hard as he can so he doesn’t have to think about what they will eventually become. 

Ryan pulls back, a laugh on his lips. “You’re fucking great.”

“Yeah,” Geoff agrees with a shit-eating grin. “I am.”

Ryan shoves him, and they both laugh and flop back onto the bed. It’s a lovely night, awash in sleepy thoughts and contentment and Geoff is just dying to be sappy.

“I think I might love you,” he giggles, a bit of liquor staining the words. “You know. Fuckin’... actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“That was kind of gay, Geoff.”

“We’re two guys. What do you want from me?”

“Wait, is that possible? If neither of us are actually... _really_ gay?”

“What, so we can’t use the word?”

“I don’t know, can we?”

“Shut up. Gaylord.”

“Is that offensive? Can we say that?”

“Oh, god forbid a couple queer guys call each other gaylords. End of the goddamn world.”

Ryan laughs his rich chuckle, the one that makes him throw his head back, and Geoff feels like he’s sinking, like he’s swimming, like he’s on cloud fucking nine. Every second he is living is filled with something that can only be described as bliss.

One day, it will all be different. But for now, all he needs is the bed and the car and his friends, and the wind in his hair and his eyes and his bloodstream. 

For now, all he needs is to live.

They sleep curled together, fingers entwined, and they are warm, and they are bittersweet, and it is perfect, and they don’t think about asteroids. They don’t think about burning.

 

* * *

 

**I-80, Indiana**

**July 23**

“Geoff, stop the car!” Ray bursts out all sudden-like when they’re halfway through Indiana, urgency lining his voice with a husk.

“What? Fuck- what’s going on?”

“Can we turn here? Did you see the sign? It’s so fucking cool, I swear.”

The panic in Geoff’s chest decreases. “Holy shit, you scared me, you asshole. What is it? We don’t have time for tourist stuff.”

“Geoff. Hear me out. They’ve got _dinosaur-themed minigolf_.”

“No _,_ ” Ryan tries weakly, but it’s too late, and they’re already turning, and Michael is whooping, and this is so, totally, happening.

The course looks so out of place in the middle of a flat plain of wheat fields- concrete dinosaur statues rising like trees out of the dust and emptiness. 

“This joint is creepy as fuck,” Michael comments, bending out of the way of a massive brontosaurus leg. “Okay, we saw the dinosaur statues. Can we go now?”

Ray pouts. “Michael, please, just a couple holes-”

“That’s what she said.”

“...Fuck. Walked right into that one.”

Ryan, ever the adult, buys their tickets, shaking his head at their antics. Geoff smiles wide and accepts the club he is handed.

They’re all going down, and he’s gonna be the best at this, and he’s desperate to kick their asses. Geoff is positive he’ll be amazing at it. It’s just minigolf, right? It’s easy.

Until they’re on the seventh hole and he’s in dead fucking last.

“It was the windmill!” he babbles again as Ray lines up his last shot of the hole. “The fucking windmill threw me off! This is rigged. It has to be rigged, right?”

“Yeah, or maybe you just suck at minigolf,” Ryan says, sing-song. 

“No, no, fuck you, I’m great. I’m just having a bad day. And _you’re_ only in first because of a fluke. This is totally bullshit. Michael, back me up on this.”

Michael, grumbling in third, sighs. “No, he’s right. You do suck, and he doesn’t. Ryan, why are you so good at random fuckin’ things? Acting, modeling, math.. _minigolf_.”

“I am a man of many irrelevant talents.”

Ray misses the shot and the ball shoots off to the wrong side. 

“Fuck!”

“Ha, you dumbass.”

“FIGHT ME, MICHAEL.”

The course continues and they all get more and more frustrated in the flat summer heat. Geoff is getting worse and worse, and that’s really saying something. Ryan is still championing on, but even he’s sweating. Ray has been muttering what sounds like every single swear combination possible under his breath, pacing back and forth and fanning himself erratically. Michael seems to be the only one unaffected by the weather, and as he takes his final shot, he laughs.

“Yeah! Fuckin’ beat Ray at the last second! Suck my _entire_ dick.”

“Michael, please,” Ray murmurs, not energized enough to think of a better comeback. “I.. I let you win.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say.”

Defeated, sunburnt and sweaty, they throw down their clubs and storm off the green, all letting out exhausted, sputtering laughs. Ryan and Ray get distracted by a snow-cone stand just inside the minigolf place, but Geoff and Michael don’t have such sweet teeth, so they carry on to the parking lot without them. 

Geoff practically collapses into the backseat when they get back in the car, while Michael, triumphant after his second-place grab, sidles into the driver’s seat with a grin sharp as a knife.

“You okay there, old man?” he asks, leaning to look behind him. The air con starts, blasting them with icy air.

“We’re the same age, you fucking bitch,” Geoff pants, raising a middle finger. Then his eyes widen. “Maybe I’m out of shape. Oh God. I’m out of breath from fuckin’ minigolf. I’m gonna have to do P-90X, aren’t I? I’m gonna have to drink protein shakes! Michael, help, I don’t want to become an annoying hipster.”

“You’re already an annoying hipster, dude. Have you seen your fucking music taste? You own a record player. You’re an old bitch.”

“There’s a difference between punk and hipster,” Geoff scoffs. “You’re clearly uneducated about it.”

Michael’s covering his ears now. “ _La la la, not listening to your lecture on the punk scene again, holy fuck, shut up, did you rehearse this shit-_ ”

Ryan and Ray burst into the car in the middle of Geoff’s spiel, repping syrupy faces and sugar highs. Michael starts back down the dusty interstate, blaring the radio as loud as it goes, and everything is sweet as cherry pie, and it’s days like these that Geoff knows he’ll miss the most.

 

* * *

  

**Granger Point, Nebraska**

**July 25**

It’s a quiet couple of days after that detour. Ryan’s hellbent on getting back in time, and has forbidden stopping for anything other than food and gas and bathroom breaks, though they’ve abandoned the three-hour rule by now.

They’re driving over a rise in the ground as they reach the edge of Nebraska, slow as all hell. They’re strange, the hills- it’s a flat state, and they poke out of the earth like tumors. 

Ryan still swears by Google Maps but Geoff is all too tired of choosing the road not-taken. They’ve taken too many back roads and dirt trails to count, and no one is sure if they’re actually helping. It’s beautiful, though, up here- sky reaching, in sunset tones of pale orange and bubblegum pinks. 

Ryan, beside him, nudges his shoulder. “Hey, can we.. stop here? For a bit?”

“Why?”

“Just.. to enjoy the moment. Or something. It’s... nice. And I have a surprise for you.”

They pull over onto the grass as the sun first dips below the hills. The light washes them in pink and yellow, and the breeze seems to lift them from the very ground. Geoff tastes pollen on his lips.

Ryan rummages in the trunk and produces a bottle of Jack Daniels from his duffel bag. “Been savin’ this for a special occasion.” He gestures to the sky. “Special as it gets, right?”

They grin at each other.

So there they sit on the side of the highway in the tall grass, the tickling weeds- Ryan and Geoff and Michael taking swigs from the bottle and Ray taking sips from his shitty old flask- it’s ironic, he claims, that the only thing it ever holds is water.

So the sun sets on them as they shoot the shit and get a little bit drunk and pretend to be gleaning some sort of meaning from this. Geoff is so goddamn fucking happy, there, leaves tickling his legs, the taste of booze coating his throat while he laughs and laughs and laughs surrounded by the people that matter the most to him. He leans on Ryan’s shoulder and sighs as the sky bruises purple-black. Ray and Michael are pointing at the sky and talking rapidly. Ryan’s laughter rings, joining their voices. 

It sounds like sorrow’s over. Like rain will never fall again.

Here, the world stretches. It all seems endless, like nothing will ever be different, like they will always be friends and they will never stop driving down these highways, and yet everything Geoff’s ever learned in his life has told him that someday it will all be over. Someday, they will not talk to each other. Someday, he will delete their numbers from his phone. Someday, none of them will remember this day, this week, this year.

He dismisses that belief for the first time that night. _Temporary_ doesn’t always mean _meaningless_. Because tonight, they are a sleepless city. Tonight, they are leaking ecstasy. Tonight, they offer themselves to the sky and hope it’ll string them up there as stars.

They all lean on each other and watch stars glimmer into existence above them, and talk about how happy they are, and Geoff has never felt more content.

May his life never change.

May this ride never end. 

 

* * *

 

**Just outside Rock Springs, Wyoming**

**July 26**

Ryan brings it up when they’re driving through Wyoming. 

“We should just.. keep going.”

They’re only a couple days from Eugene, and Geoff never thought he’d see the day when he’d actually long for the shower in his apartment. And then Ryan says _that_ , and he practically short-circuits.

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking,” he continues, running his fingers through his hair.

Ray laughs. “There’s a surprise.”

“I want to go to California.”

The words sit for a while, steeping images of turquoise skies and sparklers, beach bumming and city swinging- Geoff swallows those fantasies. _For another day._

“Not this again,” he says. “Dude, me and Michael have to go fuckin’ work. How many times have you yelled at us for wanting to take detours?”

“Yeah, but.. I changed my mind. I mean, it’s just work, right? Can’t you just... swing another week?”

Michael bites his lip. “Uh, have you ever had a job, Ryan?”

“Well-”

“Thought not.” Michael smiles, a little sad, a little sorry. “Man, I’d love to, you know that. Next time. Promise.”

“I’d go, but they’re right,” says Ray, “Maybe later in the summer, just us two or something. Get that R-and-R connection shit back up.”

Geoff studies Ryan’s face. He’s disappointed, clearly, and pissed off to boot. He taps the dashboard to the beat of the song, and the air is tense, and no one is smiling.

They drive. On and on, they drive.

It’s half past midnight by the time they pull over on the side of the road, ready to pass out in their chairs. Michael has been on his phone for a long while, and he clears his throat when the car stops.

“Ryan?” It’s a whisper, a careful sort of thing. “Hey, I, uh, texted my boss. I can get another week off, if you’re really that set on California.”

Geoff feels like he’s been punched. There is a deep-seated fear of missing out in his chest, and he pushes it away. _It’s okay. You can go a week without them._

“Really?” Ryan sounds so _happy._ It burns Geoff’s insides. “Shit, man, that’s awesome!”

“Just a week, though. Think we can swing it? There and back again?”

Ryan smiles, dripping sunshine in the cold night. “Probably.” He exhales, too loudly. “Geoff,final chance. You in?”

“..No? I thought I told you. I _can’t_. I’m on bad enough terms with my boss as it is, man. You know I love you, but this is real life.”

It hurts him to see Ryan sad, and this is the worst it’s ever been. His eyebrows are furrowed, and there’s that crease in his forehead that only comes out when he’s upset, and his lips are parted just so slightly, like he is trying to say something but the words won’t form.

Geoff gets out of the car, then, hands stuck in his jean-jacket pockets next to the little bit of cash he has left. It’s so cold out- for the summer, at least. He likes that it’s clearing his head, but the thoughts that are forming in that space are worrying.

“G,” starts Ryan, who’s apparently followed him out. “Hey, what’s going on with you? Is something wrong?”

“Well, _yeah_.” Geoff is trying his best to stay aloof. Like it isn’t bothering him.

“It’s no big deal, I understand that it must be annoying, I’m just trying-”

“To have one last hurrah, I know. Fuck, I _know_. But.. it’s like, you know, when you’re in middle school and your friends are making plans without you when you’re sitting right next to them.”

“Yeah.” Ryan looks at the ground. “Yeah, that was mean. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed it. It would just be so great if you could come, though. If you’re really that fixed on your job... I could see if my dad has connections, or whatever. Maybe we can figure something out.”

Geoff rubs his temples. “It’s- it’s shit like _that_. Like what you just said.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Fuck you,” he spits, venom on his tongue, and his thoughts are spilling out too fast. “And your Volvo, and your shitty alternative music, and your goddamn entitlement. ‘ _Let’s keep going_ ’- yeah, okay, let me just quit my fucking job and rely on your trust funds. _Sure_.”

“Geoff, I said it was okay-”

“No. You are not doing this to me, rich boy, not today. I’ve had it up to here with your fuckin’ metaphors, dude. God _damn_. If I have to hear one more poetic spiel about how ‘lost’ you are, I am going to fucking shoot something. You think you’re special? You think you have it tough? Try being kicked out of your family’s house for liking dudes. Try not making enough money at seventeen to ever _dream_ of college.”

“But, wait a minute-”

“Ryan.” Geoff barks it out, so much fire in his throat, and the word feels like an ending in itself. “This isn’t something you can just fix with your stupid smile and your stupid apologies. I swear to god.” He’s quieter now, but no less acidic. “Just.. realize that the whole world doesn’t revolve around you figuring out the meaning of life, or whatever. There’s more important things. Like actually living.”

“Geoff, I- I know,” Ryan admits, sounding rough around the edges. “I _know_. I’ve just.. been trying so hard to figure myself out and it feels like I never will. And you’ve helped, you really have- I guess I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Oh, really?” Geoff snickers. “You wouldn’t expect _me_ to understand, because I work at a _call center_ and I live in a shitty _apartment_ and I don’t have the _grades_ for college, or the cash- get that stick out of your fucking ass, Rye. Not everyone is as lucky as you.” 

He’s yelling, now, and he wants to stop but words keep on spilling out of his mouth and he is overflowing, and he is trying his fucking hardest to cram the thoughts back into his head but he can’t quite fit them in there. _It’s better this way._

“You know what your problem is, Haywood?” he says, and it’s all going to shit. “You can’t get out of your own head. Did you ever, for one second, ever fuckin’ realize that you’re not the center of the universe? That maybe, just maybe, I might be getting tired of your pretentious fucking self-righteous emo circle-jerk wanderlust?”

“Hey!” Ryan says, sharp and dark and shaking. “No, that’s not fair, just because you don’t care about your future-”

“Oh, I don’t care, now? Because I’m not going to college? News flash, Ryan- I’m fucking _poor_.”

That shuts him up pretty quick.

Geoff’s fingers are trembling. “I’m going home. Fuckin- fuckin’ drive wherever you want, but I’m leaving. I’ll take a bus, fuck, whatever. I’m not losing my job over this shit.”

“Wait, wh-”

He starts down the side of the highway. _It’s better this way. It’s better this way._ “You guys have fun in California!” he yells back at the car. “Glad you like being a pretentious douchebag!”

The words taste like pollen, and sea salt, and regret. 

“Fuck, wait- no- _GEOFF-_ COME BACK-”

“GEOFF-”

That’s Michael’s voice, and somehow it hurts more than Ryan’s does. 

But Geoff keeps on. Down that dark, empty highway, he keeps on.

It is perfect, and then it is not.

It is living, and then it is dead.

 

* * *

  

“I choked on the 

only air left in the room. 

It means I’m trying to close the door 

behind me but there is always something 

I am forgetting. My keys. My bag. 

Where I’m going.”

** \- Ramna Safeer, _Useless_ **


	4. ACT 4: the black box, the shut eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sort of an epilogue. really sorry this took so long, it’s been a hard month. thanks so much for your comments, guys, hope you enjoy this final act! this story’s been really therapeutic to work on and i’m super proud of it <3  
> -E

“Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. 

But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. 

To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.”

** \- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, _The Little Prince_**

 

* * *

 

**I-80, Wyoming**

**July 27**  

Ryan simmers in his seat. 

There is so _much_ swirling inside of him. 

First there is the anger- at Geoff, for blowing everything out of proportion. At himself, for being so clueless. At the road, for splitting, for running through different states, for forking, for being so dark.

Then the disappointment- in his friends, for hating his plans. In himself, for not thinking of them in his plans. In the road, for not curving in the right direction.

Underneath it all is the overwhelming regret, sinking into his toes, thrumming in his fingers. For not running. For not crying. For not waiting. For not leaving.

For not-

There is so much he did not do.

Ryan’s driving, because how could he not be, barreling down the highway with bloodshot eyes and gritted teeth. It’s a couple of hours after the fight, but they can’t sleep now, they can’t sleep until all the wrongs are righted. Michael’s next to him, dialing Geoff’s number again, failing to get ahold of him _again_ , and everything seems so useless.

“We’re never gonna find him,” Ray whispers, hugging his knees to his chest. “I can’t fuckin- I can’t fucking believe he did that. We’re never gonna find him.”

“FUCK,” Michael shouts suddenly, and Ryan flinches. The air stills. “Fuck. This is such bullshit.”

They all bristle. They all mutter curses under their breaths.

“I don’t understand how he could have gotten so far,” Ray says, a few moments later. “He was right there. We’re in a fucking _car_. How long did we wait for him to come back before we started looking?”

“Like, twenty minutes?” Michael is looking out the window and blinking back sleep.

“That doesn’t make any sense. We should have found him by now. There’s only one way he could’ve gone, right? Did we go past him?”

“I don’t think so?” Michael murmurs. “It was so dark. I mean... we definitely could’ve. But where would he go? A bus station? Is there one near here?”

Ryan is still silently driving, every muscle tense, eyes locked on the road. He’s got a shell-shocked look on his face, and his head pounds with the stress, and he just wants this nightmare to be over. He barely registers when Michael tells him to pull over.

“Ryan,” Michael repeats. “Hey, I said pull over, you can’t be driving like this.”

“Ryan?” Ray says from the back seat, a panicked glint in his eyes. “Rye, are you okay? Did you hear what he just said? Ryan?”

He just nods. He keeps nodding. It’s the only thing he can do without taking his eyes off the highway.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Ryan shakes his head. His throat is clogged with a lump the size of Oregon and he knows if he tries to talk it’ll only end in tears.

“Okay. Okay, that’s fine.” Ray’s voice is calming and sweet as sugar. “Let’s pull over now, alright? Alright. Great. You’re doing great. It’s going to be fine.”

Ryan finally wills himself to stop and swerves onto the side of the road. He swaps seats with Michael after some hesitation. He feels so much better in the passenger’s seat, like this huge weight has been lifted off him, and manages to swallow his sadness. Somehow. The fear remains, though, and the anxiety- they all worry, but Ryan does most of all, and he shakes with the thought that something might have happened, that his connection with Geoff has been severed completely.

Their eyes droop, but they drive. It seems so fruitless, but they drive. The road is dark and full of the unknown, full of desperation, but they drive. They have to.

The lives of teenagers are always romanticized. Ryan wishes he could say he cried for three hours, wept tears for his lost love, or whatever. He wishes it were that simple- tragedy, and poetry, and resolution- but all he does is watch the side of the road and hope to God they’d find what they’re looking for.

Time seems to move slow as syrup, there, at three in the morning, nothing left ahead but darkness and maybe, possibly, Geoff.

 

* * *

 

**Side of the I-80, Wyoming**

**July 27**

And so it goes, the side of the highway, the orange moon. So it goes, for Geoff, for the road, for the seconds ticking. It’s black as pitch and the silence is heavy and everything is exhausted. Insects buzz, lulling the world to a sleepy standstill. 

_I want to go home,_ Geoff admits, to himself, alone and hungry and lost. He won’t turn his phone back on. _It’s better this way_ , he thinks, and it’s the only thought, the only thing keeping him going.

The night is reaching and longing and wild. The night is black and blue and yearning. The night is alone, as is Geoff, and they keep each other company as they walk on- Geoff towards freedom, and the night towards its end.

On and on. On and on.

He sees a light, finally, finally, he sees something glowing pure white like it’s the gate to Heaven. Okay, well, it’s a 7-11, but to Geoff it’s his only real salvation. He stumbles towards it, and that’s when he realizes how tired he actually is. He’s tripping over his own feet, but he’s going to be okay, he’s got his wallet and his phone and he can get a bus ticket and soon he’ll be back at the call center and it’ll all be over.

He doesn’t think about what will happen when they find him. Doesn’t think about the possibility that they’ll look.

The store is blindingly bright, and it’s abandoned but for the bored-looking cashier that’s leaning on her hand. She jumps when Geoff bursts in, and raises an eyebrow.

“Hey, welcome to 7-11, how’s your night going?” she asks blearily. Like she actually cares. 

“Terribly,” he says, offhand, not really concentrating. “Do you know where the nearest bus station is?”

She frowns. “Yeah, there’s one down in Green River, ‘bout twenty minutes walk from here. Why, do you not have a car?”

“No.”

“Where’re you headed, then? This is a highway stop.” She gets up to refill the slushie machine. Geoff follows her, grateful for the conversation.

“Oregon,” he admits, and he almost laughs at the absurdity of it. He really thought leaving was a good idea at one point. “I was on a road trip.”

“Christ, what happened? You get in a wreck or somethin’?”

He smiles thinly. “Nah. Had a fight with my friends. Stupid, really, now that I think about it. They wanted to go to California, but I had to get back for work. Felt like I was ruining their fun, or whatever.”

She whistles a low note. “That’s rough. Ah, well, they’ll get over it. So will you.” The girl clicks her tongue. “Now, are you gonna buy something or what?”

 

* * *

  

**Green River, Wyoming**

**July 27**

Geoff finds himself at a bus station when the sun rises, weary from sleeplessness. The morning is pale and cloudy and waiting. Geoff’s sick of it. He needs to keep moving.

He’s clutching a Greyhound ticket in his fist and feeling a twisted sort of righteousness. _It’s better this way. It has to be better this way._

He misses the car. He misses driving. He misses Michael, and Ray, and bantering back and forth, and taking off down the freeway without thinking about limits, without thinking of endings. Of burning. Of time.

He misses Ryan. 

He misses the way Ryan brushes his fingers through his hair when he’s nervous, he misses Ryan’s laugh- the one that make him throw his head back-, he misses kissing in motel rooms and beach sunsets and talking about the future and the sounds they made without realizing. He misses feeling in place. Feeling at peace.

He forgets all about burning. He just wants to say sorry.

To tell the truth, he doesn’t know where to go from here- only that he wants it, the _going_. The ticket takes him back to Eugene, back to Oregon and the call center and rain, and he isn’t sure of himself. Because, what is there, really? In that small town, in his small life?

He thinks back to what Ryan said, on the roof of that car on the night they watched stars, and it burns him with truth. 

_“Suburbia? A family? Who am I, right? Who am I to fucking believe that’ll make me happy?”_

And then a thought comes, stabbing, and he can’t get it out of his head, because he’s the one who voiced it in the first place.

_Why are you running?_

He sits on a bench and waits, glancing at his phone every so often, though it’s almost out of battery at this point. The bus is coming in half an hour. So he just waits, and sighs. 

_It’s better this way._

The Greyhound arrives promptly at 6:30, and Geoff breathes in deep, he breathes in wanting. The only other people at the bus station are one old man and a couple of ratty girls his age who look to be in the same boat as him. If he had the energy, he might have talked to them, but the moment has passed, because the bus has pulled up and he exhales. There is no going back. There is no saying sorry.

And then he hears it, that quiet revving, and by some miracle he tilts his head to the right, and-

And there, in the dust, that beautiful distance, is a _car_ , and the pale morning sun is glinting off its silver surface and Geoff swears he knows every scratch and bump on that fucking Volvo convertible-

He sees them, behind the glass, and they are practically swerving, practically cheering, and never has there been a more bewildering moment, because Geoff didn’t think they would find them, didn’t think they would want to.

The car stops in the parking lot, and Geoff somehow pulls himself onto his feet, and he is exhausted but he doesn’t care, because here is his chance to apologize. He runs- or, he stumbles- to the lot, to the car, to the boys he left.

Ryan gets out first, and Geoff is practically crumbling, and there are purple circles under both of their eyes. Ryan, eagle-eyed and thin-lipped, lets his gaze rest on Geoff, and time seems to stand still in that moment- but suddenly they are hugging, and they are practically swallowing each other in their arms.

“Hey,” says Geoff first, and laughs, somehow. “What the fuck, man, how did you even-”

“Shut up,” Ryan whispers into his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Geoff. I’m sorry about what I said. I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m sorry I let you down and didn’t realize and forgot about real life. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant and haven’t been talking much and freaked out. I shouldn’t have pushed it.”

Geoff sucks in a breath, because he is so in love, because this is happening and this is _real_. “Thanks. Thanks, man, I’m sorry I went batshit. I love you. I’m sorry I ran. I love you so much.”

“That’s okay,” Ryan laughs, muffled by Geoff’s t-shirt, “that’s okay. We’re okay. Love you too.” 

They stand there, cradled by each other and the notion that the world will keep on spinning. Michael coughs, but they’re still standing there, and they’re rocking on the balls of their feet, and it feels like they’ve come home.

Geoff pulls away as Ray yells at them to get a room with the biggest smile on his face. He’s missed this. He’s missed them.

“So... what now?” asks Michael, looking at his feet. “I mean, you’re going home- are we- what are we-”

And that’s the thing. 

And that’s what turns the tide.

In that parking lot next to the bus station, everything shatters, and Geoff has never felt so reckless. He wants his world to fall apart, so he tears at it, tears at his stupid routine and his stupid excuse for a life. It’s summer, and he will be okay, and there are so many roads ahead of them, and he is so tired.

So he screams. “ _Fuck_ the call center!” he shouts at the sky. “Fuck Jack, fuck plans, fuck Oregon, holy shit, I’m never going back there.”

“Geoff, are you-”

He spins around to look at a concerned Michael. “Hey, fuck you too, Jones, don’t question me, I swear to fuck I never wanna go back in my life.” He points, then, at Ryan. “And fuck _you_ , pretty boy Haywood, you’re rich as hell, _take me to goddamn California._ ”

Ryan lets out a laugh, the breathless and unexpected sort that makes him throw his head back, and everything is golden in the sunrise, and it’s the sort of day that glimmers with adventure.

“For real?” asks Ray, eyes lighting up. “You’re just- you’re gonna come with?”

“Fuck _yes_ I am,” Geoff says, and it feels like freedom is flowing from his lungs. “I hated the call center. I swear to God. It was torture. I think I’m ready to go, forever.”

“Are you sure?” Ryan says, gentle, like he is just waiting to be let down again. “It’s okay, really. It’s fine if you want to go home.”

Geoff grins. “When have I ever wanted to do that? It’s like you said. This is the only time we have left to feel free.”

Ray whoops, and Ryan’s stuttering through his smile. “B-but the logistics-”

“ _Fuck_ logistics,” chorus Geoff and Michael together, and they look at each other and burst into frenzied laughter, and this is a day to remember all their lives, this is a day for setting sail. This is the feeling of beginning. Of dawn.

“So, where to?” Ray asks. “L.A.? San Fran?”

“Who cares?” says Geoff, and it bursts out of him, and he has never felt so ignited, so infinite, and it feels like a cliche but he just _knows_ that this energy rising inside his bones will never run out.

They will drive to California and then they will find a new road, a new interstate to spill new secrets, they will drive to wherever the highway takes them. And then, it will end, but the memory will never fade. Geoff knows this, now. He knows that even when they return to Oregon and he gets a new job and life becomes normal again, the road will always be a part of him. These people, these _moments_ will never really die.

So he crumples up the bus ticket in his palm. So the four boys pile into the Volvo sort-of-convertible and put on one of Ray’s shitty pop punk albums and start back down the interstate heading south. So they continue this adventure, this soul-search, so they let the winds of the interstate carry their laughs, so they begin. So they begin, again, and on and on they keep beginning, and they are youth, they are fearless, they are _kids_ -

Because when they drive, nothing can hurt them anymore. Ahead of them is something so incredibly vast- so incredibly, overwhelmingly big- that great _somewhere_. 

 

May these lives never change.

        May this ride never end. 

                May they drive forever.

 

**END**

 

* * *

 

“If I was crying, 

in the van, with my friend,

it was for freedom-

from myself, and from the land.”

** \- Sufjan Stevens, _Chicago_ **

 


End file.
